My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

chapter 22

Samuel's pov

The conference room buzzed with low conversations and the clinking of coffee cups as the meeting wrapped up. I sat back, my mind racing through the details of the day's discussions. Bruckner's name had come up several times, and each mention of him made my stomach churn with a mix of anger and determination. I needed to make moves, and fast. Time wasn't on my side, and the pieces on the board had to fall perfectly for me to get what I wanted.

As I gathered my things, a tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned to find a familiar face standing there-Clara. We hadn't spoken in a while, but seeing her here, so far from where I expected, threw me off for a second. She looked sharp, her presence commanding the space effortlessly, but with an air of warmth that put people at ease.

"Samuel," she greeted me, her smile as polished as ever.

"Clara," I responded, trying to keep my tone neutral despite the mild surprise. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Funny how small the world is, isn't it?" she quipped, her eyes locking onto mine with a spark of familiarity. "How's business?"

"Busy," I said, returning the smile, though internally, I was already weighing how this encounter could work to my advantage.

We exchanged a few pleasantries before naturally drifting into deeper conversation. Clara was quick-witted, smooth in her words, and seemingly harmless. But I knew better than to take anything at face value. With Bruckner as her indirect connection, I had to tread carefully, but at the same time, I couldn't resist poking at the edges to see what she knew.

"So," I said casually as the conversation shifted toward the industry landscape, "what's Bruckner been up to lately? I hear he's been making waves."

Clara's expression barely flickered, but I caught the brief pause in her response. "Oh, you know, Jake's always working on something big. He doesn't sleep unless he's plotting his next power move."

That was the opening I needed. I nodded along, pushing gently for more details while keeping the tone light, even flirtatious at times. It wasn't hard-Clara had always been easy to talk to, and she played along, either not noticing or not caring that I was prying. The more I engaged with her, the more I found myself falling into the rhythm of it. There was a subtle electricity between us, a back-and-forth that blurred the lines. I knew what I was doing, but a part of me also knew it was wrong.

Still, I couldn't stop myself.

By the end of the day, I'd gleaned some useful information about Bruckner's next moves-nothing concrete, but enough to piece together a strategy. I could tell Clara felt good about the conversation, too. She lingered as we said our goodbyes, her hand brushing against my arm in a way that wasn't entirely professional.

Back in my hotel room that evening, I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone, dialing Fiona's number. Hearing her voice grounded me.

"Hey," she greeted, her tone warm and familiar.

"Hey, just wanted to check in. How are things?" I asked, leaning back against the headboard.

We talked for a while, our conversation meandering through the usual updates and small talk. Fiona had a way of making everything feel stable, even when the world around me felt like it was spiraling out of control.

"You'll be back tomorrow, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll be back," I assured her, already picturing our reunion.

I meant it. I really did. But the moment I hung up, my phone buzzed again-this time, it was Clara. Her voice was light, casual, but there was something in the way she framed her invitation that made it impossible to refuse. She wanted to meet up, to discuss something that could be pivotal in my plan against Bruckner. I couldn't say no. I knew I should've told Fiona, but by the time I crawled into bed, exhaustion had settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I let sleep take me instead.

The next morning, Clara and I spent the entire day together. Meetings, lunches, more meetings-it all blurred into one long, productive day. She was attached to my side, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the thin line I was walking. We moved from one meeting to the next, and I found myself focusing on the goal, on what this time with Clara could bring me in terms of strategy. She had valuable insight, and I used that to my advantage, but I couldn't ignore how she subtly stayed close, how her laugh seemed a little too genuine at my jokes, or how her hand lingered on my arm during conversation.

By the time we left the last meeting of the day, it was dark. The city's lights flickered on, casting a soft glow through the car window as we headed back. Clara was chatting away, but my mind was already thinking about the next steps-about how all of this fit into the bigger picture.

When the car neared the hotel, Clara turned to the driver. "Let's stop at Samuel's place first. It's closer," she said, her voice light but insistent.

I frowned. "Your hotel's closer, Clara."

She waved a hand dismissively. "No, it's really not. Besides, I need to freshen up before I head back. Won't take long."

We went back and forth a bit, but she was persistent. Eventually, I relented. There was no point in arguing over something so trivial. As we pulled up to the hotel, Clara fumbled with a drink she'd been holding, spilling it conveniently all over her dress.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock surprise. "I can't go back like this."

I inwardly rolled my eyes. I knew exactly what she was doing, but I wasn't about to make a scene. Instead, I played along. "Come on, you can clean up in my room," I said, trying to sound neutral.

She jumped out of the car, all signs of distress forgotten, and I followed her up to the room. Once inside, she started making herself comfortable, but I steered her smoothly toward the bathroom. "You can clean up in there," I said, keeping my tone polite but firm.

As she disappeared into the bathroom, my phone rang again-Fiona.

"Hey," I answered, my voice softening instinctively.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. "You were supposed to be back today."

"Something came up," I replied, guilt creeping into my chest. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"You should've called," she said, her voice dropping with disappointment. "I was expecting you."

Before I could respond, Clara's voice floated from the bathroom. "Samuel, I can't find your towels," she called, her tone far too playful for the situation.

Fiona paused. "Who's that?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second too long. "It's Clara."

"Clara? Clara's in your hotel room at this time?"

"It's not what you think-"

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice sharp and hurt. "I thought you were different, Sam. I really did."

And then, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my heart sinking. I tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail. Again and again, no answer. Frustration gnawed at me as I typed out a message-It's not what you think-and hit send, knowing full well it wouldn't help.

A moment later, Clara emerged from the bathroom wearing one of my shirts, her smile smug and self-satisfied.

"Really?" I asked, my patience wearing thin.

She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "It was more comfortable."

I sighed, standing up and retrieving her dress from the bathroom. "Here," I said, handing it to her. "You should go."

She looked surprised, but not offended. "Maybe another time?" she suggested, her smile lingering.

"Maybe," I said, forcing a smile of my own.

I walked her to the door, and as soon as she left, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The room felt quieter, emptier, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone, my heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

As I lay back, exhaustion took over. I'd deal with Fiona tomorrow. I'd explain everything. She'd understand, eventually. Right?

But as I closed my eyes, the thought hit me like a freight train-when had Fiona started to feel like home? The question lingered in my mind as sleep pulled me under, a reminder of the mess I had to face when I woke up.